


Wither the Flowers

by Dryad



Category: Space: Above and Beyond
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 10:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad





	Wither the Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monicawoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/gifts).



"The 58th?" McQueen leaned on the railing, looking out over the lake. He was still a handsome man, one I would've set my cap at if we were in some bar and I didn't know who he was. Dressed in a spotless white turtleneck, winter grey pullover, black jacket and black trousers, he was the epitome of a fit older gentleman, one who had 'seen some things' as my Aunt Lissa would say.

"They were the best of the best."

"How so?" I asked, readying the stylus against the slate. Obviously I was recording the interview as well, which McQueen well knew, even though I had been advised against mentioning it to him. I disagreed. The man had been through enough as it was, no need to make him even more antagonistic by virtue of lying. Besides, he would suspect it anyway. "I mean, none of them were particularly outstanding on their aptitude tests."

At his sideways glance, I shrugged. "We journalists have our ways."

"You're not just any reporter."

I conceded the point with a little nod. No. No, I wasn't.

A moment later he looked back at the lake, or maybe at the surrounding forest. It was extremely pretty here, picture perfect, actually. There was the cabin and the lake, the forest surrounding everything, even encroaching on the 'road', which was nothing more than an old logging track. I know, I looked it up. Adding to the beauty was the fresh coat of snow overlying everything except for the dark eye of the lake, half unfrozen in the unending cold weather of this particular spring. The pines stood out, stark and terrible, and when I parked at the cabin all I wanted to do was rush inside and wrap myself in a warm blanket and drink a cup of hot cocoa.

I hadn't been invited inside. McQueen met me on the front porch and then took me around to the back porch, where we could look at the lake. Maybe he felt under siege by my arrival, I don't know. I could understand why he might, being one of the few men who had spoken face to face with the first Ambassador and lived to tell the tale. Of course I had the recordings, too. To say they were illegal to hold was an understatement, yet now I knew exactly why the Chigs had attacked the Tellus/Vesta colony in the first place. Hearing the recordings had cemented my view; now all I had to do was prove I was right.

"They _were_ ordinary, that's what makes them so extraordinary. Each and every one of them had their own personal battles, and rose above them. How many of the educated and the priveledged can say the same?"

Then it was my turn to look out at the lake. The comment was a rebuke, and though I felt it personally, I resolved not to take it as such. McQueen had his own demons to battle still, it would seem. Looks were deceiving, and in my case I had dressed the part. The sable trousers, long wool coat in camel, the dusk blue cashmere scarf, even the boots said I was of a certain upbringing and income bracket. They were all the most expensive items of clothing I owned, and I'd had to borrow the boots. "I doubt they think about it overmuch."

Immediately I regretted my attempt at comraderie. It would only make me seem as if I was being a faker. I needed to get back on track at once. "So," I said, leaning my hip against the porch railing. "They learned quickly, then?"

"They were primed to become what we wanted, what we needed."

Silence fell again, along with the darkness. Snow was on its way in, and I was getting colder. Despite the wool I wore, clearly I needed thicker silk underclothes and some alpaca socks to go over the thin cotton I was wearing. The pattern on the cotton socks was hilarious, squirrels eating nuts, their black eyes overlarge and their bellies swollen, piles of nuts looking like poop. Well, there _was_ only so much fine detail you could have on a sock. I gave the cabin a sidelong glance, trying to figure out the best way of getting in, when I realized there was no curtain on this back window. 

The light from the other windows was such that I could see rather clearly. I could see an open stone fireplace with golden flames and the very edge of an Oriental carpet in strong blues and reds, a white lampshade and the beautifully curved wooden armrest of a chair.

"Why are you here?" he asked, staring at me imperiously. "I won't discuss certain matters, surely you know that."

I shrugged again, looked up at him through my eyelashes. One part of me was thinking about how to answer, while the other was wholly concerned with imagining what McQueen might look like above me in the throes of orgasm. Christ, I needed to get laid.

"I'm here because of the letters she sent me," I said, drawing out of my inner pocket the hard copies I had printed last week, holding them out to him. "You can keep them, if you like."

He stared at them, then slowly reached forward and took them. "I knew she wrote home, but..."

I nodded. "Yeah. Finding those...they didn't square with what we hear on the news."

"How long?"

"How long has it been since a letter? I think you know."

Then it was his turn to nod. 

"Is that why you agreed to talk to me?"

"I think you know," he parroted back, and we shared a mutual moment of low-key amusement of the bitter variety. "They were good kids, the Wild Cards. I hear West got married, had a few babies. And Hawkes runs that school, the one upstate. Does a good job of it, too."

As well he would know, having helped Hawkes found it. The Mountain School, that's what it was a called. A boarding school for In Vitros, learning the ways of Humanity. From what I had read, they took everyone who wanted to go there, whether or not they had made a formal application. Mostly laborers, dock workers, miners, that sort of thing. If you did scut work for a living and had poor or no education, you could go to the Mountain School and they would give you a purpose, or so everyone said. The few people willing to talk to me had been all the more effusive.

"I learned how to live, out there," Munro had said, slinging one arm around his girlfriend. She took a few delicate sips from her milkshake and nodded enthusiastically.

"I've dated In Vitros before," she said casually, as if that was normal. She winked at me. "They age real well."

Munro grinned, and I decided I had heard enough of the two of them. Oddly enough, the majority of In Vitros at the Mountain School were male. At some point in the future I would have to look into why the females didn't survive, but I suspected it was for the usual reasons. The same story repeated itself across the interviews: In Vitros felt valued, they learned to process emotions, they discovered a kind of family that could not be taken away from them. They learned they could love.

"And yourself?" I finally asked, for as far as I could tell, McQueen just lived out here at his cabin, enjoying the view.

He said nothing

He said nothing, and it occurred to me that maybe I needed to explain myself before he would say anything more.

"I was a normal child," I said, and promptly kicked myself. "I mean, I was a pain in the ass, like most kids are."

That earned me a breathy sound that might have been a snort.

"I managed to get into a college, got scholarships, worked full time through the rest, graduated without too much mishap. Earned a reputation of being pigheaded about some things, most notably Aero-Tech's involvement with the UN, Ambassador Hayden," I paused and straightened my back, because dammit, I was proud of myself. "and their collusion in starting the Earth-chig war."

McQueen was absolutely still beside me. And then - "You fool. You _fool!"_

Wide-eyed with surprise, I faced him. "What do you mean?"

He grabbed me by my upper arms and shook me once, twice. "Shut up, just shut up! Who - how?"

Trembling with not-exactly-fear, I lost any ability I might have had to keep shtum. "I came across it during my research at school! The letters were given to me by Aunt Lissa when I was 19, she thought I deserved to know! And when I got to college I started doing the research, and found the record! It's easy when you know where to look! Not only that, if Aero-Tech really cared, they wouldn't have had the interrogation broadcast all over the _Saratoga_ in the first place! You can always destroy the record, you can't destroy five thousand human beings, even if they are on a star destroyer!"

I finished on a shout, my voice echoing across the lake. When I spoke again, it was more softly. "I had to talk to you, personally. I had to know what they were like...what _she_ was like..."

"Did you meet her? Did you speak to her?"

"Yes, of course," I said. "I was only little, but I remember. There are videos, too, of all of them. Even Hawkes."

"Then there's nothing you don't already know," he said, releasing me and stepping away. "Remember what she was like. Treasure it and endeavour to live up to her standards. Forget the records, they won't tell anyone they don't already know if they've been paying attention - "

"But - "

"No," he said, holding up his hand for me to stop. "It won't accomplish anything, this truth. Keep it close to your chest. Aristotle said that Patience is bitter, but it's reward is sweet. You don't have to be the one who - "

Somewhere in the forest a raven cawed, or maybe it was a crow, I don't know, I've never been able to tell them apart. I waited for him to start talking again, but instead he inclined his head at me in a kind of formal bow before going inside, closing the door firmly behind himself.

Stunned by the dismissal, I finally gathered my wits and made to leave. I looked down to send my report to my editor, Tom Jakes, only to discover I had never turned on the recorder in the first place. I hadn't even made a note on the slate. This whole day had been a colossal waste of my time.Ridiculous, to think that, that, I don't even know what I was thinking, everything just seemed to be in a muddle. I searched for the reasons I had come here, and all of them had disappeared like so much smoke on the wind.

At least McQueen had stayed as true to life as he was in the letters. Stern, intense, a little bit frightening and a whole lot sexy. That made me think better of him, in all honesty. He was the kind of man who spoke in meta. According to his public files, he had never had any formal education after leaving Omicron Draconis, nothing apart from what he had set out to do for himself. Hopefully the other Angry Angels had helped…or not, I don't know. I felt as if I had a clear vision of what I wanted to write before coming here, and now I was lost and afraid and dammit, rejected. I had though McQueen would welcome me with open arms about the news,glad that he was no longer considered some kind of traitor, although who would have thought that in the first place completely escapes me. 

Back in the vehicle, I rested my head against the steering wheel for a minute, trying to figure out what to do next. Go home, obviously, but beyond that…write a book? Talk to whomever would listen?

I didn't know. I just didn't know. Maybe I should join the Marines, find out what it was really like before I did anything else. The thought was not pleasant, but if it was the only way I could remain close to her...

Toggling open the 'Record' button on the slate, I put the vehicle in gear and began backing up. "My name is Rowan Vansen and I'm going to tell you a story about my aunt, Captain Shane Vansen..."


End file.
